Houston Chronicle reporter Emily Foxhall wades into floodwaters of Tropical Storm Harvey as she covers evacuation efforts by the Fort Bend County Sheriff's office the Orchard Lakes subdivision on Sunday, Aug. 27, 2017, in unincorporated Fort Bend County, Texas. less

Houston Chronicle reporter Emily Foxhall wades into floodwaters of Tropical Storm Harvey as she covers evacuation efforts by the Fort Bend County Sheriff's office the Orchard Lakes subdivision on Sunday, Aug. ... more

Photo: Brett Coomer, Houston Chronicle

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Houston Chronicle photographer Karen Warren stands next to a monster truck that was used to rescue and ferry people in and out of flooded areas of Houston after Tropical Storm Harvey.

Houston Chronicle photographer Karen Warren stands next to a monster truck that was used to rescue and ferry people in and out of flooded areas of Houston after Tropical Storm Harvey.

Photo: Photo Courtesy Of Karen Warren

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Houston Chronicle Reporter Wei-Huan Chen interviews worshipers in the front lawn of The First Presbyterian Church of Dickinson Sunday, Sept. 3, 2017, in Dickinson. The First Presbyterian Church of Dickinson was badly damaged in the floods from TS Harvey. The only thing that wasn't damaged was the stained glass. less

Houston Chronicle Reporter Wei-Huan Chen interviews worshipers in the front lawn of The First Presbyterian Church of Dickinson Sunday, Sept. 3, 2017, in Dickinson. The First Presbyterian Church of Dickinson was ... more

Photo: Steve Gonzales, Houston Chronicle

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Houston Chronicle Deputy Investigations Editor/ Senior Investigative Reporter Lise Olsen (right) interviews Linda Bonner Wednesday, Sept. 6, 2017, in Channelview. Bonner's home flooded and started sinking into a 6 to 12 foot sink hole. She lives right next to a Waste Pit has no plan in rebuilding her home of nearly 40 years. less

Houston Chronicle photographer Brett Coomer is reflected in a mirror on a debris pile in the Arbor Oaks neighborhood on Wednesday, Sept. 20, 2017, in Houston. The neighborhood used to be home to 160 houses and is now down to 13, after most of the homeowners, having flooded repeatedly, sold to the county Flood Control District. less

Houston Chronicle photographer Brett Coomer is reflected in a mirror on a debris pile in the Arbor Oaks neighborhood on Wednesday, Sept. 20, 2017, in Houston. The neighborhood used to be home to 160 houses and ... more

Photo: Brett Coomer, Houston Chronicle

How the Houston Chronicle covered Harvey

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On the night of Aug. 27, at 10:24 p.m., Chronicle reporter Susan Carroll shared a Facebook post of what some of her colleagues went through during Harvey to help deliver the news.

"Vernon Loeb ran a couple miles from his house to the newsroom this morning during the flood because the roads were impassable. He honestly didn't seem to think twice about it. Lindsay Ellis walked a few miles in the storm, too. Al Lewis climbed over a flooded freeway ramp and waded through waist-high water while doing Facebook Live. Lomi Kriel was stranded in her car at one point but still filed great copy. St. John Barned-Smith's car drowned, but luckily he's OK and kept working. Emily Foxhall spent the night in a shelter and her day on a boat. Mike Morris waded through flooded houses in his neighborhood while Matt Dempsey rode his bike through Pearland snapping photos. Shelby Webb spent all of last night in the newsroom. I don't think she slept at all. John D. Harden has been at the emergency command center literally for days. Keri Blakinger and Jacob Carpenter filed dispatches from down south and along the banks of swelling rivers. Rebecca Elliott, Greg Morago and Nancy Sarnoff talked to some of the people hit the hardest and left homeless, including a barefoot woman with a baby and no formula. Dug Begley filed a couple thousand words, raided the cafeteria and drove us safely to a hotel by the newsroom. Gabrielle Banks called a man back to double check the spelling of his dog's name (thanks again!). And Mark Collette finally made it home to Meyerland on a jet ski, wearing another man's shorts. We left Lydia DePillis, Dianna Hunt and Mike Tolson and many more in the newsroom tonight — along with Vernon, of course. Thanks, guys."

Since then, we've heard many more stories from across the newsroom of what reporters, editors, photographers, graphic designers, copy editors and others went through during the historic flooding.

Editor Nancy Barnes said it best in another Facebook post.

Editor Nancy Barnes praises the Chronicle staff's coverage, including a narrative written by three reporters affected by the storm. One of them, David Hunn, is pictured here.

Editor Nancy Barnes praises the Chronicle staff's coverage,...

Reporters Mark Collette, Mike Hixenbaugh and David Hunn managed to report and write a masterful narrative, 51 Inches, despite flooding or tornadoes hitting their neighborhoods. It was edited by Vernon Loeb, who kept running to work even as the floodwaters deepened.

Each of them also had a remarkable personal story.

Collette arrived home after anchoring the first-day story on a jet ski to find his Meyerland neighborhood flooded. He and his wife juggled caring for their 2-year-old son while he reported on the struggles of a single mom whose 2-year-old daughter needed oxygen to survive the storm.

Hunn, a business reporter, was ordered to pack up and leave his neighborhood in Missouri City. Here's his story:

"We were going to stay at our home in Sienna Plantation, despite the threat of levee breaches. Then, Monday morning, the mandatory evac order went out.

So we packed a bag in about 15 minutes and left, not knowing where to go. Expecting bad traffic, we exited via a back route, and figured we'd eventually head southwest.

While on the road, one of Jess's new friends (we've only just been here a year) texted her and asked if we needed a place to stay. We turned around and headed east, back across the flood, to Pearland instead.

I wasn't sure we were going to make it. It felt like nearly every time we got on a dry road we eventually would run into flood waters and either have to drive on the wrong side of the road, at best, or have to turn around. I've never driven into oncoming traffic before.

Finally, we were almost there – could see the neighborhood – but were stuck at the intersection of McHard and Old Alvin, which was pretty well flooded. That was a weird moment for me. I knew I wasn't supposed to drive through floodwaters, but I also knew we had nowhere else to go and a dangerous drive anywhere. So we watched a truck go through, gauged the water height at about a foot, and drove through.

We left the house at 10 a.m. and arrived, just 20 miles away, around 2 p.m.

Perhaps the craziest part for us Houston newcomers: Water kept rising. We spent Monday and Tuesday talking with our new friends about where to evacuate next. The water didn't drop enough for us to leave until Wednesday night or Thursday morning.

We returned back to our house Saturday morning, after the evac order lifted. The house was dry. Didn't look like water even flooded the streets."

"The power went out not long after we returned with additional supplies. Then the septic tank flooded, and the toilets overflowed with ... you know ... as the nine kids in our house relieved themselves, one after another. As the water continued to rise that afternoon, I ducked into my car in the garage and took a call from an editor at the paper, asking me to get to work ASAP on a weekend enterprise story encapsulating the storm's destruction. Once the water receded a bit the next morning (Tuesday), we loaded our kids into the van and evacuated to a photographer's house, closer to the newspaper office, so I could get to work on that story."

Reporter Mike Hixenbaugh paddled into Harvey in search of food for his family and a story for the newspaper.

Reporter Mike Hixenbaugh paddled into Harvey in search of food for...

Some staff members spared the first day of the storm later found their neighborhoods inundated, like Monica Rhor, a veteran investigative and narrative reporter in Kingwood.

"During the course of reporting on Harvey, I fell off a jet ski into filthy water, got stuck in wet sand up to my knees and had to be yanked out by a human chain, lost my cell phone to water, got a flat tire and was rescued by a good Samaritan who not only changed my flat but gave me a tire and would not accept anything in return, lost power, phone and internet access for a few days and watched terrified as floods crept up all the streets surrounding my house.

But I had it good. So many of our neighbors lost homes, lost treasured belongings, lost peace of mind. Half of Kingwood, the serene suburb where my family lives, suffered severe flooding. Streets were like rivers. Cars were underwater. Businesses destroyed. So many of my daughters' friends and classmates had to be rescued from their homes by boat and came back to a house in ruins.

What I will most remember: the frail elderly people leaning on walkers and in wheelchairs who were evacuated from a senior living residence and shuttled to a shelter, the parents clutching their wet and shivering children as they alighted from rescue boats, the pet owners holding tight to their drenched dogs and cats, the stunned expressions of evacuees sitting at a makeshift shelter at a school. The faces of loss, grief and fear.

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The dozens of volunteers who turned out in canoes, kayaks, airboats and motorboats to rescue strangers, drop clothes, food and supplies at shelters, pull rotting drywall and moldy carpets out of neighbors' homes. The faces of compassion.

This is not the first time I've covered a disaster. I was here for Ike. I've covered mass fires, storms and blizzards. But this was my first as a mother. I was terrified for my children – and every distraught parent, every crying child, every lost pet, every pile of shredded and sodden furniture, toys and memories reminds me how deceptive a sense of a security is and how easily our world can be upended."

Alyson Ward tells an amazing story of being rescued from her apartment off Cypress Creek along with her boyfriend, Terrence, and their blue betta fish, Grover, in a Mason jar. With a car full of floodwater, she set out on foot, interviewing neighbors.

Education reporter Shelby Webb was still recovering from a broken leg when Harvey hit. She wrote this:

"Hurricane Harvey didn't hurt me, but my physical therapist might.

The storm hit about five months after I snapped my right thigh bone in half, an injury that required a two-hour emergency surgery, 12 metal screws and a two-foot-long titanium rod to fix. It took two months of physical therapy before I could stand on two legs, another month to transition from a walker to crutches and another month to pare down to a single crutch.

But as floodwaters rose across Houston neighborhoods and in the Chronicle's parking lot, I ditched my crutch, which acted more like a bag of bricks than a walking device as I tried to drag it through rising the waters. Instead, I opted to limp through roads that had suddenly turned into creeks and parking lots that had become wading pools.

Ditching the crutch and wading through floodwaters was not part of my original Hurricane Harvey coverage plan.

When I reported to the office the afternoon of Aug. 26, I expected to get off around midnight after updating online coverage with rain-related news. That was before nearly 20 inches of rain dropped in parts of the region over 12 hours, trapping people in suddenly water-logged homes and washing over large swaths of Houston's freeways.

I ended up staying until about 4:30 a.m. Sunday, leaving to move my electronics to higher spots in my apartment, and trying to drive back to work around 7 a.m. In the two and a half hours it took me to pack up some snacks for my coworkers and a go-bag for myself, the roads I had taken to get home had suddenly become impassable. My 10-minute commute to work soon turned into a two-hour ordeal, as every road I came across seemed to become a pool. I cried when I finally parked my car at our building near the 610 loop and Highway 59, grateful it had not drowned but kicking myself for being so incredibly stupid.

On Monday, after touring some of the damage with a friend in a lifted truck, I hitched a ride with an out-of-town reporter to Briar Forest Drive in the Memorial area. We had parked about a mile south of Buffalo Bayou, but water lapped the road 20 feet away from our car.

Closer to the bayou, the waters covered cars and turned Briar Forest into a quickly flowing river.

In keeping with my penchant for making bad decisions – I made another by leaving my crutch in the car and hobbling into the brown, flowing waters.

I limped hunchback-style to a large tree that had fallen over on its side and somehow climbed on it and out of the water.

I could see two men wading through shoulder-deep water towards us, one of whom thought swimming would get him to dry land faster than trudging.

"Don't swim!" I yelled at him, pointing at the current that raged in front of him.

As I yelled, a Humvee pulled into the middle of the newly created creek. I had been trying to cover water rescues all day, and this looked like my chance.

I began waving my arms, pleading with the four Nepalese immigrants inside to pick me up so I could come with them as they plucked strangers from their flooded homes. They pulled up about 15 feet away from where I stood on the felled tree, and one of the men got out and outstretched his hand.

"This probably isn't a good idea," I thought, as a lowered myself off the tree and into the putrid waters.

I nearly tripped on the curb as I limped over to the rescuer, grabbing his forearm with my left hand before reaching for another reporter's arm with my right. At its deepest, the water was just below my chest. Our three-person human chain was soon pulled into the Humvee, where I sat and watched the four strangers devise plans to rescue others.

We sat with them for about 30 minutes before finding other rescuers, including 23-year-old Mustafa Herby, who was profiled by Mike Hixenbaugh in the Chronicle's "51 Inches" feature.

The rest of that week seems like a blur. I know I slept over at the Office of Emergency Management one night. I know I met the now-famous Harris County Flood Control District Meteorologist Jeff Lindner. I might have signed up to adopt a comfort dog.

But one other moment sticks out. After getting what seemed to be a promising news tip, I ran for the first time since I broke my leg in April. It wasn't far – about 50 feet from my desk to an editor's desk – but people in the newsroom stopped what they were doing and gawked. A few seconds later, they broke into applause.

Hopefully, it was the first of many runs to come. Let's just hope the future runs aren't through waist-deep floodwaters."

Lydia DePillis, economics reporter, thought her story was not at all remarkable, though some could argue otherwise:

"I got to work on Monday – already wet from the walk, since I'd left my car at the office the previous night when the lot filled up with water – and ran into Dianna. 'We need someone in Meyerland,' she told me, speaking of one of the city's most flood-prone areas, about three miles south of the office.

So, I tromped back outside and drove my tiny hatchback slowly and carefully over the puddles, as far as I could get before running into deeper water. From there, I jogged to rain-swollen Brays Bayou, where guys in boats were still pulling people to safety. Then another mile on foot to go check out a report of looting (the store looked fine). Then I hopped in Mark Mulligan's car, where he was drying out his cameras on the dashboard, to go into Meyerland proper, wading through waist-high water to collect stories of people who'd elevated their homes after the last flood and made it through OK, and stories of those who didn't have the money, and flooded up to their light switches.

Eventually, Mark dropped me off at my car and gave me a muffin, for strength. From there, unsure of where to go in the still-driving rain, I ended up at a busy shelter in Bellaire and start typing away at a story on my phone, shivering now in my wet clothes. After filing, I filtered through the shelter talking to people who'd landed there after escaping their wet homes before being sent on to George R. Brown. The family of five that hadn't eaten in two days because they couldn't afford to stock up before the storm. The old lady with a bad back who was up to her elbows in water before rescuers finally came by and pulled her out. The kindly youth minister who puttered around offering people sausage rolls.

Finally, I left, exhausted, headed to a dry home, and not knowing what I did to deserve it."

Features reporter Maggie Gordon was surrounded by water.

"I live along Buffalo Bayou Park, which swallowed up the roads around my apartment. Our downstairs neighbors evacuated to Dallas, and I finally feel like I became a true Gulf Coast resident when I spent a chunk of Saturday fortifying their place with sandbags, after spying another neighbor's carpet ripped up and soggy in an exterior hallway.

I could only leave our complex on foot for days, and spent Sunday, Monday and Tuesday wading out in the deep water to find people to talk to.

I saw jetski rescues and walked through homes that had taken on feet of water. On Tuesday evening, I was able to climb along an iron fence on the northern border of Spotts Park for several hundred yards, which made it possible to get a little further from my home without worrying about the sweeping currents rushing down Buffalo Bayou. I kept thinking that shimmying along the fence was the stupidest thing I've ever done, but I took my time and used patience and was able to maneuver without slipping.

Finally across, I spotted the Waugh Bridge, now clear of water, and figured out a safe route to get to work on Wednesday.

The thing that sticks with me is the current of the bayou. It was moving so fast in the deepest parts that I knew it could knock you over in an instant. I tried my best to stay on the edge as often as possible, and it struck me that it had waves, like an ocean on the beach, rising up the streets. When I looked at the dirt on the bottom of the new lake on Allen Parkway, it looked like ocean sand, with all the ridges that come from moving with the tides."

Houston Chronicle Staff Photographer Steve Gonzales works from the back of his pick-up while covering the aftermath of Hurricane Harvey Wednesday, Aug. 30, 2017, in West Columbia. ( St. John Barned-Smith / Houston Chronicle )

Houston Chronicle Staff Photographer Steve Gonzales works from the...

Photographers are always on the front lines and have amazing stories, including this one, by Steven Gonzales, a senior staff photographer:

"'I hope they told you that you would be riding on the outside,' Harris County Sheriff Chief Deputy Edison Toquica told me before we headed to a high-profile rescue vehicle outside the Bakers Street Jail in downtown on Monday, Aug. 28.

I had arranged to ride along with Harris County Sheriff Ed Gonzalez and thought I would be riding inside a vehicle and not in the bed of a rescue truck. The only front seats were taken, so the remaining seats were in the bed. It was the second day of constant rain to hit the Houston area, and many of us started to feel as if we would never see the sun again.

As we headed for the truck, rain bombs the size of nickels pelted the yellow poncho that covered my rain jacket, waders and cameras wrapped in plastic bags. Two other deputies and Toquica joined me in the back, so I didn't think it would that bad.

I was wrong.

After a quick stop at the George R. Brown we were informed that there was a great need for rescues north of IAH. We began the trek being beaten by the relentless rain the entire way. The deputies and I huddled together in a futile attempt to keep a part of our bodies dry. The rain felt like bee stings as it hit exposed skin. At some point along the way, I noticed the side of my hand, which I had used to hold my rain hood secure, was bleeding from being exposed to the elements.

When we arrived near the East Sam Houston North Tollway and C.E. King we found a long line of boats on trailers waiting to aid in rescue efforts. After maneuvering through the line of first responders, our truck drove into water that was over its wheels. First responders on rescue boats informed us that there were hundreds of people hunkered under a bridge needing help to get out of the floodwaters.

As we drove the wrong way through the flooded feeder road, one of deputies yelled, 'Oh my God, look over there!'

The truck came to a stop. At the same time the passenger-side door flew up, and I heard a splash. I looked over the railing and saw Sherriff Gonzalez jumping into and moving fast through high water to a girl who lost her footing.

A man she was with had been struggling with two dogs, one that pulled out of its collar, and he lost sight of the young girl. Gonzalez came to her rescue, lifted her out of the water and rushed her to safety.

I made a few frames of the rescue, but soon found out that my cameras were starting to suffer from the effects of being in the elements. I could only make two or three images at a time before the camera locked up with an error.

We continued to rescue families, babies, the elderly and wheelchair-bound individuals. I had to attempt of dry my cameras and shoot one or two frames at a time. On several rescues, I put down my failing cameras to jump into the water to lift wheelchairs, pets and helped those in need.

The faces of theses victims still haunt me. They left with only the clothes on their backs, with no idea where they were going. The children crying and scared, the elderly confused why they were wet and cold, many missing their shoes, having to be rushed away in the back of a military truck.

Now, I close my eyes and see their scared, shocked and blank stares. I wonder where they are now. Are they ever going to come back to their homes or just walk away? The small cut on my hand and the malfunctioning cameras that can be replaced seem so petty to have worried about when these people had to go through what they did. I admire the first responders and the Harris County Sheriff and his deputies. They all did an amazing job in a very difficult situation."

Photo: Steve Gonzales, Houston Chronicle

Harris County Sheriff Ed Gonzalez carries a little girl to a rescue truck after she fell into the water near East Sam Houston North and C.E. King Parkway Monday, Aug. 28, 2017, in Houston. ( Steve Gonzales / Houston Chronicle )

Harris County Sheriff Ed Gonzalez carries a little girl to a rescue...

Brett Coomer, staff photographer:

"I was covering the Texans preseason game against the Saints in New Orleans on Saturday night. I picked up John McClain, who always flies to games, and drove there. The airport was already canceling flights.

It was challenging being out of town when the hurricane was moving toward Houston and feeling that I should be available to cover it. Watching CNN and the Weather Channel made it even worse, because it was the same apocalyptic report over and over. I stayed in contact with my family at home, and they were telling me all was well, so that was good.

I left New Orleans just before 6 a.m. Sunday to get back to Houston to help cover the storm. I didn't hit heavy rain until just past Orange. I was seeing that Beltway 8 and I-10 were going to be problems. I decided to take 105 over to 59 from Beaumont. Just before Cleveland, there was one spot where water was on the road. Fortunately, it was shallow, and I made it across following a truck.

Once I got home, I packed a few things, water and a jar of peanut butter, and I was gone within 30 minutes after arriving.

I was sent to Fort Bend County to meet up with Emily Foxhall and report from that area. The problem was that many of the roads from The Woodlands to Richmond were becoming flooded. I tried to take 99 over, but only got as far as 249, before being turned back by the flooded road.

I finally made it by taking 45 to Beltway 8 to Highway 6 to Richmond.

Despite the heavy rain, that area around the Brazos River had yet to be flooded by the storm. People were only beginning to evacuate. I shot some images at the shelter at a church, where Emily had spent the night before, and began to work the storm with her.

We made it to a subdivision where Fort Bend Sheriff Troy Nehls was taking people out on an airboat and a large truck. He let us ride with him. The rain was so heavy that it was difficult to keep the lens dry to make clear images.

The first photo I took after he got a man and a woman in the boat were not usable because the lens was covered in rainwater and was having trouble focusing. I was keeping one camera under my raincoat, which was getting soaked through as the day went on, and I was keeping another under a towel. Once I cleared my lens, the couple being evacuated huddled under a tarp and an umbrella. The sheriff also covered the woman's face with his cowboy hat and a firefighter tried to cover the man's face with his cap, trying to block the driving rain. Once he got them to the evacuation spot, I went with him on another run, where he got out two other families with children.

I probably could have gone on more, but I needed to dry my gear and file.

While I was filing photos and a short video of the man and woman, Emily made two reservations at a hotel nearby so we didn't have to stay in the shelter. But when we got to the hotel, they had only one room for her. Fortunately, a room was freed up for me. It was under maintenance, but I didn't care. I wasn't sleeping in my car.

The next morning, unfortunately, I discovered a flat tire on my car. After looking even further, I noticed there was damage to my front fender. That was upsetting, but I didn't have time to deal with it We needed to get back to covering the storm. I changed my tire and drove to Emily's car.

After driving to several potential flooded areas, we again met up with Sheriff Nehls and covered more airboat evacuations. Later that night, I finally made it back to the office and was put up in a hotel by Howard Decker.

I did not return home for two days. Fortunately, my wife, Tina, and two of my sons were safe and dry at home. No flooding."

Photo: 1Lt Zach West, Texas National Guard

Houston Chronicle photographer Brett Coomer sits in the cockpit of a Texas National Guard Apache helicopter with Maj. Randall Stillinger while waiting to fly on a Tropical Storm Harvey relief mission with the National Guard on Thursday, Aug. 31, 2017, in Houston. ( 1Lt Zach West / Texas National Guard )

Houston Chronicle photographer Brett Coomer sits in the cockpit of...

Karen Warren, staff photographer:

"The morning of Sunday, Aug. 27, I looked out of my front door and saw the floodwaters already halfway up the wheels of my personal car, a Subaru Outback. I live in the Heights, and have never seen it flood that high in the street. Water was also coming up in the alley way and into our garage.

I had already loaded my hurricane kit (a case of water, food, fix-a-flat and other supplies) into the company car, a Jeep Patriot, the night before.

I eased the car through the flooded alley and onto the street. I made it about two blocks away and saw a river of water heading south down Studewood Drive. At that corner were two cars ... stranded.

My heart skipped a beat. I had a moment of PTSD from my experience in the 2015 Memorial Day Floods, when I ran into a wall of water and flooded my car coming home from a Rockets playoff game.

I turned around and headed to Heights Boulevard. More high water, and even more abandoned cars in the flood in the middle of the esplanade. I turned around and parked the Jeep in the garage, which still had water creeping in. I felt it was still safer to leave it in the garage than in the street.

After seeing emails from my photo editor, Jill Karnicki, with her iPhone photos from a swollen White Oak Bayou near her home, I decided to set off on foot. In the torrential downpour. One camera, two lenses. I started walking and within 10 blocks, I was completely soaked. My REI jacket had failed me. I kept going, determined to make an image for the paper. My thought was, the rain would have to slack off at some point, and I could return home, grab my car and go back out. It was just a few miles of walking that seemed to take forever.

Photo: Karen Warren, Houston Chronicle

People walk through high water on Taylor Street in the Heights, after heavy rain from Hurricane Harvey fell overnight, Sunday, Aug. 27, 2017, in Houston. ( Karen Warren / Houston Chronicle )

People walk through high water on Taylor Street in the Heights,...

I was huddled under a canopy at a business on Studewood, when Jill pulled up in her car! (She saved me another 11 blocks, and the area past 11th street was not nearly as thick with rainwater, as above 11th.)

I hopped in and she drove me over to the Stude Park area, where I was able to make some photos of the high water and flooded gas station on the corner. That's when I ran into two women who I just knew instinctively were reporters.

I didn't recognize Katherine Blunt and Ryan Maye Handy, because they were shrouded in GORE-TEX, but Katherine was carrying a notebook, pen, and her phone in a Ziploc bag.

They picked me up, and we began exploring other areas, as we tried to make our way out of the Heights. We got over to the bridge at Durham, walked up to the peak and another band of heavy rain and winds chased us off.

We went over to the area off of Patton Street near I-45, and along the way checked if we could get out of the Heights near Airline, Cavalcade and Main, but there were multiple cars flooded out with water that was still impassable for anything other than a truck.

We made it over to Pinkerton's BBQ, on Airline, which had promised to be open 'Come Hell or High Water,' and the line was out of the door. Ryan and Katherine waited in line to get something to eat. I took off on foot back to my house. I got home and filed my photos. I looked at the pedometer on my phone, and it registered nearly 9 miles of walking. I just wondered how many gallons I had taken in that day."

Photo: Karen Warren, Houston Chronicle

The sign on the door of Pinkerton's BBQ on Airline in the Heights reads "Come Hell or High Water, we will have BBQ, liquor and AC!" inside they were serving people after heavy rain from Hurricane Harvey fell overnight, Sunday, Aug. 27, 2017, in Houston. ( Karen Warren / Houston Chronicle )

The sign on the door of Pinkerton's BBQ on Airline in the Heights...

Much of the copy desk slept for five straight nights in the newsroom or in nearby hotels. They lost cars and took on flood water, too. This is what Charlie Crixell, news editor, remembers:

"Our Universal Desk intern, Traynor Swanson, tried to get home the first night after the storm hit, but he drove into water on the U.S. 59 feeder and was forced to leave his car there and walk back to the Chronicle.

Days later, his car was still there, and it couldn't be missed: It had a large "DUKAKIS FOR PRESIDENT" bumper sticker on its back end. (Swanson is a collector of odd bumper stickers.)

Hoping to avoid the driving rain as much as possible, a group of eight Universal Desk members piled into my Jeep Commander to drive over to the hotel at which the Chronicle had reserved some rooms. The group included me, Michela Garcia, Hue Truong, Michael Calderon, Bryce Dodds, Renny Mason, Al Montano and Swanson.

With the main road to the hotel taking on water, I was reluctant to drive through it, so Hue got out at one point and started walking to see how high it was. When it got up to about her knees, we decided to try to find an alternate route. We eventually managed to get to the road where the hotel is by circling around on the 610 feeder, but again it seemed too high to drive through – and there was a stranded truck right across from the hotel to prove it. (That truck would wind up staying there for the next five days or so).

So at that point, all my passengers got out and walked the rest of the way to the hotel in knee-deep water. I drove back to the Chronicle and walked to the hotel from there, slipping twice in the rain and falling in the mud."

Universal Desk members whose homes flooded include Bryce Dodds, Alaina Spiers and Renny Mason. But the worst affected was Conrad Bibens, whose home had eight feet of water in it at one point, with water just inches away from the downstairs ceiling. Conrad, ever the trouper, was taken in by a friend and worked remotely from his friend's house on the business section just one day afterward.

"Becky and I and our adult daughter Anna lived in Humble, in the Northshire subdivision by the Deerbrook Mall.

We were fine until Monday night, Aug. 28, when Lake Conroe released its water 20 miles upstream on the San Jacinto River. I'd say at least 300 of the 400 houses in the subdivision were flooded. We got 8 feet of water, so we lost essentially everything.

We got out before the water came and stayed with friends for nearly 2 weeks. Many of our friends from Becky's church helped us gut the house and pile up the debris in our front yard. We rented a place in Porter a few miles north and with borrowed furniture we're pretty comfortable.

We have flood insurance and we've spoken to an adjuster, but it will take a while to get things settled. We don't want to move back to the house.

But, as bad as it is, it could have been a lot worse for us, so we're keeping a relatively even keel."

Digital producer Leila Merrill:

"The HoustonChronicle.com team worked around-the-clock during Harvey and the first several days of the aftermath. I'm proud of all my co-workers' excellent work. I can't say that too often. I know that what I have been through has not been easy, but it's nowhere near as life-threatening or as life-changing as what others have been enduring and creating.

My living room became my office since my car had water damage. I worked, fed and comforted my anxious cat, kept up with family and friends and wound up tending to improvised buckets.

By Tuesday, I was afraid the roof and ceiling would give. But they held. Like lots of other journalists and nonjournalists, I had a go-bag and possible evacuation plans in place just in case. I was lucky. I'm out the deductible for the car, but my beloved Beetle runs again.

Someday the roofers will come. For now, we all work in the newsroom again, and I pitch in outside of work as I can."

From Charles Apple, Deputy Design Director:

"The Chronicle's design department spent much of the three or four days after the storm working remotely from home. Three of us made it in to the office to help keep things on track.

We managed to cut our front page designer loose Saturday before the deluge hit — he got home right before the water began filling the roads. I wasn't quite so lucky. I had parked on the low side of the Chronicle building off U.S. 59. I drove through a puddle of water that was a lot larger and a lot deeper than it appeared. Once I worked my way to my apartment complex between Sage and Rice Roads near the Galleria, I again ran into very deep water.

The bad news was that I just plowed right on. Very bad thing to do. I kept screaming at myself: Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The good news: I made it through. Both times.

By Sunday morning, the water on both Sage and Rice was thigh-deep, turning both busy streets into ponds. We gawked and took pictures and were grateful we had electricity and WiFi.

By mid-afternoon, my luck held up again: The water finally drained off. I was able to get to work.

It rained for a couple more days after that, but the water never pooled quite so badly in my area. I feel like one of the luckiest people on staff."

Photo: Charles Apple

This is what Charles Apple, deputy design director, saw on Sage Road in the Galleria area.

This is what Charles Apple, deputy design director, saw on Sage...

Mike Glenn had an unexpected encounter during his Harvey reporting.

"I was getting off an airplane at Fort Bliss in El Paso after my Army unit returned from the Gulf War the last time I saw my niece, Nicole Galvan, in a military setting. She was in a stroller being pushed by her mother. My in-laws had joined my wife to welcome me back home.

Last week, I ran into Nicole at Katy High School while I was interviewing military troops who were sent to the Houston area to do battle against the raging floodwaters brought on by Harvey.

This time, she was Spec. 4 Nicole Galvan and was in a camouflage uniform. She had just arrived only hours before along with the rest of her unit, the 1836 Transportation Company, a Texas Army National Guard unit based in El Paso.

'I wanted to come out here because you guys were here,' she said. 'I know if I was in that kind of situation, I'd want someone to help us out.'

Nicole asked about how we were and if our house had been flooded. (It got close at times, but we managed to escape relatively unscathed.) She also asked about her cousin, a registered nurse at the Texas Medical Center.

'I was worried about you all,' she said.

Galvan – or Nikki as she is known to the family – is a truck driver. Her unit would soon be loading boats and transporting them to Beaumont. After that, she would help crew one of the boats rescuing people trapped by the floods.

Though she said she misses her two children back home, she was proud to be a member of a tight-knit unit that's playing an important role in the operation to help her fellow Texans.

'I was ready to come here and fulfill our mission,' she said. 'We're actually doing what we're supposed to be doing. This is a once in a lifetime thing.'

While I have no concerns about jumping into floodwaters (I've done it several times in the past and will likely do it again in the future — this being Houston and all), I still have a doting uncle's concern for his niece's safety.

She might be a fully trained and prepared National Guard troop, but she's still the same Nikki who smiled at me as a baby when I returned from combat."

The city desk's Keri Blakinger started in Galveston first, before driving to cover the explosions in Crosby.

"Like many people, over the past couples weeks I spent a higher-than-usual number of hours thinking I was going to die — drowning, waterborne bacterial infection, exploding chemical plant and sheer exhaustion all seemed like valid possibilities. I am pleased to report I appear to have survived — and incredibly lucky to say that my cat, car and apartment all survived.

When I left for Galveston that Friday, I had volunteered for the assignment strategically. I figured my apartment is a piece of crap and the water and electricity already go out with some regularity, even sans hurricane — so basically anyplace else would be better for a few nights of a hurricane.

But I ended up being gone for eight crazy days — with only two days of underwear. Not ideal. The first five days I spent in Galveston, covering the island, Dickinson, La Marque and surrounding spots.

Photographer Yi-Chin Le and I agreed early on that we would not take any risks driving into water, but it turned out that her idea of "not a risk" was a bit different from mine. Despite her insistence on driving into and wading through water, we survived — and turned out to be a great team.

Our hotel leaked the entire time, so we couldn't dry any clothes soaked from wading in the flood. But, crucially, we had power the whole time and were able to keep reporting, even when the wind blew so hard it shook the bed inside the room, which I did not previously realize was possible.

Then the Wednesday after the flood I went through Baytown and got very, very, very lost, because cell service was knocked out, roads were flooded and the map wasn't detailed enough for back roads.

I worried that I was going to run out of gas and die alone on a back road (and not even file a story first!), but I kept driving back out to La Porte for cell service so I could call photographer Godofredo Vasquez for directions. He was a lifesaver.

Then I went to Crosby to wait for explosions at a chemical plant, and on the first night — when nothing had exploded yet and it was still a little unclear how serious it would be — Matt Dempsey promised that he would speak tearfully at my memorial if I died in a fireball. (My mom was not especially happy about the offer.)

After a long day of reporting, I fell asleep around midnight in a cheap hotel, only to be roused around 3 a.m. by editor Mizanur Rahman, who told me the plant had exploded and I should head over there. I threw on my raincoat but left in such a hurry that I forgot a shirt.

I reported all day from Crosby, then Lindsay Ellis came up, and we waited for more explosions together, at one point stopping in a bar with a parrot and a woman who told us fabulous tales involving a porn ghost.

We both came back to Houston that Friday, but turned around four hours later and went back to Crosby when there were more explosions. We went back again on Sunday, and I went Monday as well, making for a crazy week-plus of 16- to 20-hour days and lots of heartbreaking, terrifying stories — and a renewed understanding that I should always carry extra shirts and underwear in my car.

Before all this started, as Harvey was barreling into town, I had more than one friend snarkily ask me if I was still glad I moved to Texas. Hell, yes. Our newsroom is amazing. This was the test, this is what we practice for.

And we all pulled together, took some risks, sacrificed sleep and put our personal lives on hold to tell the world what's going on in Houston. I think we did a pretty kick-ass job of it, and there's no place I'd rather be."

And more from our reporters, many of whom reported while landlocked. Here's Andrew Kragie, who's on the city desk:

"My field reporting during Harvey was limited to the Med Center, since I live in that area and the roads were impassable.

On Sunday afternoon I half-biked, half-waded in to check on reports that Ben Taub had flooded and would evacuate patients. The floodwaters ranged from ankle-deep to above my waist. I've tried not to read about all the lovely chemicals and contaminants found in that water.

It was good exercise, though, putting my bike on the lowest gear and churning through three feet of water. Like a not-quite-stationary bike combined with water aerobics.

I ran into a homeless man riding out the storm on a patio with some wooden picnic tables across the street from Baylor College of Medicine. The patio had turned into an island. I gave him some protein bars and water and asked if he had a cellphone to call 9-1-1 if need be. He did not."

"Covering Harvey was an amazing experience with a mixed bag of emotions. I felt excitement, anxiety, sadness, hope and exhaustion. I spent most of my time during Harvey working in the office updating both the rolling narrative and breaking stories. I updated the rolling story as Harvey made landfall in Rockport and worked in the office from 4 p.m. to midnight on Friday.

I then drove home to sleep for a couple hours (I live only five minutes away) and then got back up at 3:30 a.m. and drove to the office to continue updating the rolling breaking and narrative stories until 12:30 p.m.

It was nerve-wracking to see that many of the bayous were already nearing their banks Saturday morning before the devastating flooding began.

I worked two other 12-hour overnight shifts throughout the week, one on Monday, 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. and Friday. I also went to NRG around 11 p.m. on Tuesday night to report on the shelter opening up.

I was bone-tired, but revived when I saw all the energy-filled volunteers working hard to prepare for the rescue workers coming in.

This week has been the most devastating personally. I learned a guy I first started writing about last summer for a project with Maggie Gordon at Harris County Jail had died during the hurricane. He was part of a re-entry program called Freedom Project that helped those who suffered from substance abuse issues. He was released from jail last October and had completely turned his life around. He lost his life driving to his job on Sunday morning when the flooding was at its worst.

It was absolutely devastating to find out he died, but I feel honored that I got to write a few stories about his life, including the toughest one this week about his body being found.

Luckily, all my friends and family are safe."

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On the morning of Sunday, August 27, Houston Chronicle Managing Editor Vernon Loeb wrote in an email to the entire newsroom: "We are heading into a severe flooding emergency and everyone on the Chronicle editorial staff is activated." For the days and that followed most of the staff covered the effects of Hurricane Harvey and little else.

Media: Scott Kingsley, Houston Chronicle

Ileana Najarro, business desk:

"My street became a river that caused multiple cars to get stuck for days, so I did what reporting I could from home. I put in phone calls, I chatted with neighbors and I would even Facebook message restaurants and bars in order to post updates online day and night of their hours of operation."

"The day the rains started, I drove to northwest Harris County and talked to families hit by tornadoes. I drove back, parked in an area I thought would be out of floodwaters.

Next day, bam. I spent the day freaking out, trying to figure out what to do, filing vignettes. The next day, I hitched a ride up to northeast Harris County and watched rescuers pull people out of flooded streets by Tidwell and CE King.

It was the hardest reporting environment of my career ... just impossible to take notes.

Then, I got a pickup and spent several days zooming around Brazoria County, talking to lots of different people, hanging out with a game warden, and two good-ol' boys and oil dudes who saved their community when a levee began to breach.

I just got a new car.

The storm finally made me admit I consider myself a Houstonian (but I'll never stop rooting for Boston)."

Photo: Steve Gonzales, Houston Chronicle

Houston Chronicle Reporter St. John Barned-Smith works from the inside of a pick-up truck while covering the aftermath of Hurricane Harvey in the Columbia Lakes subdivision Wednesday, Aug. 30, 2017, in West Columbia.

Houston Chronicle Reporter St. John Barned-Smith works from the...

And Hearst fellow Robert Downen, who just started working here:

"It was my second day at the paper, and I caught a flat tire while driving through some of the evacuated areas in Fort Bend County.

I was lost, the sun was setting, the wind was bearing down and the destroyed tire was too rusted to budge. Panic was slowly setting in when two guys, Butch and Calvin, pulled up in a tow truck without me flagging them.

They basically pushed me out of the way, loosened the tire with a hammer, tightened the lug nuts and then disappeared down the road before I could get their last names. They were the first of a countless number of wonderful people I met in my first week as a Texan."